


words over swords

by suzuling



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Letters, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Minor Violence, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Promises, Violet Evergarden AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25370032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzuling/pseuds/suzuling
Summary: A letter delivers a person’s yearnings and thoughts to someone’s front steps in a sealed envelope with their words unfolding and touching their heart as if they were the person sitting besides them and reading the letter out loud to them. As an Auto Memory Doll for Fodlan's Postal Company, Marianne's job is to write letters at a client's request. On the road to her next job, she runs into a familiar face from her academy days."Say Felix…Is there someone you would like to write a letter to?”“Only if you can deliver the letter to the heavens.”(Violet Evergarden AU)
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Kudos: 7





	words over swords

**Author's Note:**

> also called: an alternative spin to Felix and Sylvain's non-AM paired ending,,, bc i refuse to accept it lol
> 
> before reading, please do be aware:  
> \- this is set in post-Verdant Wind; there are major spoilers for endgame!  
> \- main pairing: felix/sylvain; side: marianne/hilda (already established)  
> \- POV will switch to felix later on!  
> \- there is some mild violence and blood depictions, but only for this chapter!

A letter…

Something so small. Something so easily lost. Something so seemingly ordinary. Yet it carries an abundance of people’s memories, stories, and emotions. It holds all the power to bring happiness, frustration, and heartbreak to others.

A letter…

Isn’t merely a piece of paper with writing on it. A letter delivers a person’s yearnings and thoughts to someone’s front steps in a sealed envelope with their words unfolding and touching their heart as if they were sitting beside them and reading the letter out loud to them.

An Auto Memory Doll from Fodlan’s Postal Company is commissioned by others to write these letters. A Doll should know how to decipher and express the client’s words onto paper, no matter how abstract they may be. An Auto Memory Doll should have the patience and empathy to step into the shoes of a client to understand what they desire to express.

Becoming an Auto Memory Doll at Fodlan’s Postal Company is Marianne’s pride and joy. The Dolls are known for their sophistication, elegance and compassion from their demeanor and presence, and recognized by the typewriters always with them. They are known far and wide across Fodlan for their envelopes marked with a rose gold wax seal and on the seal was embedded with “Fodlan’s Postal Company” stamped in small text in a ring around the crest of flames. Marianne enjoys her job. Enjoys the adventures of traveling across Fodlan to her clients. Enjoys connecting to the stories and tales she hears. And, above all, enjoys the serenity and comfort she feels with every click of her typewriter.

It was the morning of her next job. Marianne stands in front her mirror, finishing off a braid of hair, and secures it into a makeshift headband over her bangs. She grabs her navy shawl draped over her desk chair, fastens it over the shoulders with her signature broach and takes another glance in the mirror, pulling back a few loose strands of hair from her face. She’s ready to set off on her trip.

Her client?

Sylvain Jose Gautier, or now known as, Margrave Gautier, from House Gautier of the former Kingdom territory. Originally hailed from the Blue Lion house in the academy days, Sylavin became one of her Golden Deer classmates, being easily persuaded into their class at the Professor’s first invite within a _week_ of them becoming their new instructor. He temporarily left his duties at House Gautier to affiliate and fight with the Alliance during the war, but the rest of them lost contact with him after he returned home to inherit the Margrave title.

Coming from a House of wealth and power in the Kingdom, most surely with his own team of private messengers, his job request came as surprise to the postal company, especially not knowing the substance around the letters were entailed with.

The rest of the team had their guesses. A heartfelt marriage proposal to a lover? Sylvain always had his arms around someone back at the academy as Hilda brought up. Could he have finally settled down? Or possibly an invitation for a festivity or celebration? Marianne wasn’t sure why he would need to request their services for that, but penning out invitations was a part of their pay grade. Or could it be the opposite? Maybe he had bad news to deliver. She hopes it wasn't the latter. As much as Marianne loved what she did, it was always tough to be the bearer of bad news, even if indirectly.

On the way out of her room, Marianne fastens her anklet boots, grabs her knapsack of supplies, and finally, the portable typewriter, folded into a navy briefcase on her desk. The gold lettering of “Fodlan’s Postal Company” on the faux leather case catches the sunlight, shining proudly against the navy background, just as proudly as Marianne felt for becoming an Auto-Memory Doll. And for good measures, since northern Fodlan was known for its cruel winters, she brings along her warmest jacket, gloves and scarf.

After a grueling five years of war across Fodlan, with the result of Alliance victory, the three territories of the once Adrestrian Empire, Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and Leicester Alliance were joined together and became the United Kingdom of Fodlan with its new ruler, Byleth. To say times were peaceful was an understatement and plainly untrue. Former lands of the Empire and Kingdom were unstable with the loss of their rulers and fell into confusion and chaos that even noble Houses couldn’t bring any calmness to. Many were weary of the young Alliance’s victory and questioned Claude’s ability to lead, believing he would be ruling over the united Fodlan.

When the real plan was revealed and Byleth ascended the throne, some sense of stability and trust returned to the citizens. Mostly thanks to their connection with Rhea. But even then, Byleth’s leadership was tested multiple times. Time slowly healed the scars left from the war and with the help from other Houses, territories were reformed and order was returned. And furthermore solidifying Fodlan’s trust, Byleth’s name was spoken with pride and joy once more as eastern Fodlan claimed victory against the remnants of Those Who Slither in The Dark with the assistance from Claude, who had left to become the current King of Almyra. For Fodlan to trust in Byleth _and_ build good relations with Alymra? It would be knocking out two birds with one stone, Claude would say. Even they wondered if this was a scheme orchestrated by Claude.

Several months after the war, the Fodlan Postal Company was created with the heart of the company located in the outskirts of Garreg Mach, a centralized location for all three territories. When the war ended, Marianne returned home to House Edmund where her adoptive father was training her to become an orator to be the House’s successor. Only when Byleth reached out, asking if she would be interested in taking part in the newly formed, Fodlan’s Postal Company, as an Auto-Memory Doll.

The Professor's approach was perfect timing, really.

The one and only postal company in Fodlan was created with a letter writing and delivery branch dedicated to reach every corner of the continent. Prior, different territories had their own sets of messengers, leading to chaos at the borders as each had their own unique customs. Nowadays, many private messengers switched to work for the postal company, with a few still tied down to nobility. And commoners had convenient access to the postal services, including a letter writing division where those who did not have the opportunity to learn to read or write could have their words be articulated into flowery language by an Auto-Memory Doll. Many simply also requested having letters to be written and delivered as a gift. The letters are equivalent to the sentiments of a special present given on a holiday or birthday.

Marianne promptly accepted the role as a Doll and stepped down from nobility, much to her father’s disapproval. But Marianne wanted to follow her own path. Byleth’s motto of “Letters deliver happiness” brought her nostalgia to the five year gap after the first battle of Garreg Mach where the Professor went missing and Fodlan’s outcome was looking grime against the Empire. Stacks of pink letters with lacy handwriting and a spritz of sweet floral fragrance delivered monthly brought her joy to the dreary times. Marianne instantly knew the letters were from Hilda. It was the same perfume she donned at the academy. Each letter was written in a lighthearted manner. Sometimes Hilda would complain about random responsibilities passed to her. Or sometimes she told Marianne how heroic her brother was during battles and how the Alliance shouldn't lose hope in the war. And what touched her the most were the words at the end of every letter telling her how much she missed seeing her. And so, this set a huge factor where Marianne wanted to bring the same smile she had from Hilda’s letters to other people’s faces.

“Off to your next client, Mari?” Hilda chimes from below, watching Marianne descend down the staircase that led to the housing of other Dolls. A cheerful smile was always on Hilda’s face and Marianne envied yet awed her for. Her presence never failing to bring a ray of sunshine to the stressful times of the job.

Her bright demeanor was perfect for her position at the postal company. Likewise, Hilda left the responsibilities of House Goneril to her brother, Holst, one of the Alliance’s greatest general. Originally, Byleth had asked if she wanted to be a Doll just like Marianne, but she declined, complaining about taking trips around Foldan to meet clients. The next and self-proclaimed _best_ option, also suggested by herself, was to work as one of the front desk receptionists for the company, which proved to be well suited. She was always attracting attention with her charm and beauty and visitors were easily drawn to her which helped them grow immensely in the beginning.

“Yes, I’m headed up to House Gautier” Marianne nods and sets her typewriter on the ground. She lifts up the arm with her jacket to indicate the cold times ahead. “I’m excited. Faerghus is pretty during this time of year with all the snow.”

“Ugh, if by pretty, you mean deathly cold. How is land up there even inhabitable?” Hilda jokingly groans. She shifts to a halfhearted curtsy and giggles, “And say ‘hi’ to Syl- I mean, _Margrave_ Gautier for me.”

Her giggles quickly disappear as she breaks off into silence with her gaze lingering and expression faltering from playful to concern mixed with uncertainty. Marianne knows. Marianne knows from her look that Hilda wishes that she didn’t have to say the next words in the fear and acknowledgment of the small possibility of her trip going south and the potential to lose Marianne along with it. She’s aware how Hilda would go nights and nights with little sleep, waiting anxiously for Marianne’s return in fear of never hearing a word about her whereabouts, assuming the worst has happened.

Her trip to House Gautier should take at most a week depending on how much writing was involved, but to Hilda it sure felt like weeks longer. Truth be told, it has happened twice before, where Marianne's trip was extended as she picked up another client along the journey and she felt disappointed in herself for worrying Hilda without notifying her. Nowadays, Marianne makes sure she sends letter updates to her, if this ever happens.

“Please be careful, okay? The war may be over, but things can still be pretty hectic up in Faerghus.” Her voice drops low as she pulls Marianne towards her into an embrace. “May the goddess protect you, Marianne. I’ll be waiting.”

Hilda gives her one final squeeze and pulls away, but her stray hands linger and decidedly grasps Marianne’s instead, not wanting to completely part from her yet. Slim fingers tenderly trace the blue and pink gem bracelet fastened tightly around Marianne’s wrist and Marianne looks down fondly at the matching bracelet on Hilda’s wrist.

The bracelets were personally handcrafted by Hilda after the first war. One of Hilda's love and passions was to create jewelry and she often sent some personalized ones to Marianne along with her letters. Marianne originally thought the bracelet was a commencement to the Alliance’s victory, but much to her surprise, Hilda confessed her love to her with the bracelets. And even more surprising to her was Hilda’s expression, the usual confident flirt, was flustered with cheeks flushed the brightest pink, confessed hesitantly with every word. What started out as a secretive crush on the bubbly, pink haired girl, ended up blossoming into a boundless love between them.

Marianne squeezes Hilda’s hands reassuringly. “I will, Hilda.”

Grabbing her typewriter, ready to head off to her destination, she plants a kiss softly on Hilda’s lips. “I promise, I will return.”

_I promise, Hilda._

[ — ]

Reaching House Gautier wasn’t supposed to be complicated, really, especially with the ongoing construction of Fodlan’s newest railroad system. However, only half of the projected railroads were completed with the Kingdom falling behind the most due to the abundance of terrain obstacles in the way. House Gautier was located in the northern most region of Fodlan and the closest train stopped along the borders of Gautier and Fraldarius territories near Conand Tower. From snowy paths, to iced over streams, and plentiful of evergreen trees, it created a maze hard for Marianne to navigate through on feet. And much to her _lack_ of luck -Marianne silently curses her crest under her breath- she was welcomed by a snowstorm the moment she stepped off the train.

Marianne tugs her coat closely, picking her feet up one by one cautiously as she trudges through the snow. She bears the pain from the sharp, frigid wind hitting her face and concealing her view. And as familiar with the times where food rations were low and even lower when they set out for battles during the war, she worries about not having enough supply to last her. With a hand tightening around the strap of her knapsack, Marianne takes note on how she should be good on food for the next two-ish days. But even food would become meaningless if she couldn’t find shelter before the sun sets.

As if the goddess was apologizing for bringing upon a blizzard, Marianne barely makes out the top Conand Tower after moments of walking. The tip of the tower stands high among the trees and piled up snow, striking a small pot of gold for her bleak situation. Head bowed down, she thanks the goodess and sets for the tower.

The area near Conand Tower wasn’t new to Marianne. She frequented the area more often than she wanted to in her academy days. Her body wrenches at the memory of fighting Miklan. Having lost his soul to the Lance of Ruin for wielding the weapon as a crestless, the curse transformed him into a demonic beast before their eyes. The sheer horror they all felt as he roared at them, turning their bodies ice cold in sheer fear. She remembered the way Sylvain begrudgingly gave the final blow with a swift strike of his lance. In the battle’s aftermath, Marianne saw the emotions running through Sylvain’s expressions, watching Miklan’s defeated body disappear into ashes, leaving only an empty corpse.

_Anguish._

_Torment._

_Heartbreak._

Everyone stood around in silence when Sylvain lifted the relic weapon away from the dead body. Heads lowered, words unspoken and unfounded, when he led the group back down.

To Marianne’s knowledge, bandits continue to occupy the area around the tower. A small number, yet a rowdy group who causes trouble to nearby villages. With the heavy snowfall, she prays the bandits weren’t taking shelter at the tower.

As she makes her way forward, a loud _clang_ of metals striking and an earsplitting cry slice through the silence, directing her attention to the east. A fight? Marianne’s mind tells her to ignore it, telling her it was a bad idea to get caught up in violence, but as she heard yet another, even louder, painful scream, her concerns grew in volume. What if someone was in trouble? The thought pulls her feet forward to find the source of the clamor.

It didn’t take long to find them. Upon seeing shadowed figures, her body turns frigid, eyes widening in horror at the sight laid in front of her. The snow was stained red with blood of three, no four corpses lying on the ground. In the middle, stood two figures with swords raised in stances ready to duel off. Her stomach twisted in revulsion. It’s been too long of a time since she’s saw such bloodshed since the wars.

Positioning herself stealthily behind a tree, Marianne squints at the two, trying to get a clearer look through the snow. She identifies the one on the right: a rogue looking thief, dressed in brown rags, wielding a long blade. Most likely a bandit who called Conand Tower his base. And the man on the left: a swordsman, clad fully in teal minus the matching blue thigh high blue boots and white puffy sleeves. His raven hair pulled back into a short ponytail with hands gripping bloodthirstily onto the base of his blood dripping sword. The bloodied sword indicating the dead bodies were his responsibility.

Their bodies lurch forward simultaneously on an soundless signal with their blades swung forward. A brash tune sings from each clash of metal. She lets out an anxious breath, unsure if she wants to interject. It isn’t her business, but she can’t shake off the feeling that she _knows_ the swordmaster. But where? How? The way he fights. the handling of his blade. It's rough and abrasive, yet proficient and elite. It screams talents of one who was raised with a blade in hand. The thief wasn’t at a full disadvantage though. His own skills, more cheeky and rough, nearly rivals the other.

The thief steps back, clearing his mind as he calculates his next steps while circling around. Heavy tension fills the air when the two lock in a stalemate, eyeing each other carefully, waiting for one to move first. Marianne takes a breath shakily in anticipation for the next unknown.

As if on cue, with the ghostly howl from the wind, the thief breaks the standstill and takes the first move with a thrust of his sword, forcing the swordmaster’s feet backwards awkwardly. His faltering steps seemingly from the exhaustion of taking on the group of bandits solo. A misstep proving fatal in a chain reaction. Before he can recompose himself, the thief swings again, forcing the latter into a stumble and his feet nearly trips over each other again. The rouge takes advantage of the missteps and lunges forward with this sword, bringing the swordmaster to the ground with a failed parry.

“It’s over." The thief claims his victory with a knee pressed onto the latter’s chest, digging him down.

“I thought you’d be more worthy of an opponent,” The swordmaster spits out. The bite in his tone lightening with every word said as he accepts a premature defeat and drops of his sword.

And realization strikes her upon his voice.

_Felix... Fraldarius?_

The sharp edged voice. The black locks of hair. The same teal clothing worn years ago. It clicks within her. But why was he giving up? He must still have some fight left in him. Back in the days, Felix was constantly honing his sword skills on the wooden dummies at the training grounds. He wasn't one to give up. Not nearly as quickly as this.

“You fucker, underestimating me? You trying to get cocky when I’m about to kill you!?” The thief digs into his once more causing Felix to choke on air at the impact.

Marianne clenches her fists and she dreadfully watches on. The thief’s sword raised readily to land the final blow and before her mind could register her own moves, she sprints towards them with a heavily pounding heart.

“Goddess, forgive me!” Marianne shouts, throwing her typewriter aside onto the snow. With her hands held out, she recites a _Thoron_ spell and the air gathers around in front of her hands, crackling with electricity. The sparks funnel in and with a thrust of her hands the magic is thrown forward, spearing through the thief, throwing him meters away and taking him out instantly.

Marianne pants in relief, lowering her arms and letting the adrenaline surge dissipate as her mind registers the last few seconds. But her ears fails to register the painful outcry from Felix in the midst of her attack until she sees it. First, the blood seeping onto the snow around his body. Second, Felix rolled onto his side, face wincing in pain. And third, the thief’s sword stabbed into his abdomen as he slides the weapon out.

She was a second too late.

“Wait, careful!” Marianne calls out, running to examine him. Gently lifting away Felix’s bloodied fingers where he was grasping his wound, she sees the punctured wound in his lower abdomen. There is still time left though. If she can just heal him before he loses more blood...

“What? Who-" Felix narrows his eyes. "Marianne?” He groans, flinching at the pain.

Marianne’s heart twinges at the slight nostalgia of Felix remembering her. It’s been years and they weren’t particularly close. He was always sparring away at the training grounds while she was tending to the horses on the opposite side of the monastery at the stables. And at the off chance that they were in the same place simultaneously, little words were exchanged between the two. Admittedly, the serious frown he wore constantly during their academy days intimidated her, so she didn't bother to start any sort of conversation with him. Felix never did either. But he too, similarly to Sylvain, joined the Golden Deer house as well, wishing to get closer to Byleth, in awe over their swordsmanship, and later aligned himself with them during the war.

“Shhh…” Marianne holds out her hands. She recites a healing spell and her hands start glowing a cool air. “Let me heal you first.”

“No. Leave it.” He tries to whack away her hands, but it comes out as a weak wave of his hand. “Just leave me be.”

Marianne sighs. She knows stubborn he can be.

“Please. The wound is serious. I need to heal you or else-” she pleads.

“No, go. I lost and this is the price I’m paying for it,” Felix scowls.

Marianne frowns in disbelief. Did she stumble upon a doppelganger of Felix instead? She wouldn’t have expected him to give up so… _willingly_. Does he have a death wish? Did he think she was going to stand up and abandon him and allow him to bleed a slow and painful death in the middle of the forest? Is that what he wants? Well, he would have to wait for another time because she wasn’t going to leave him and let him die. It wasn’t in her good nature to turn a blind eye on an injured acquaintance. And he should know that from the past.

During the war, Marianne trained to become a bishop. Often placed in the back lines, far away from the epicenter of bloodshed, she would keep an eagle eye on her allies, looking out for signs of injuries to heal and chanting out spells in hopes her magic had the range to reach them. And to think Felix would be denying to let her heal him, _knowing_ she was previously a bishop and has healed him countless times, didn’t sit right with her. Marianne’s seen the gruesome times. She’s seen the bloodbath and the horror as crisp clear as those who fought on the front-lines. She had to see the bloody punctures, gashes and missing limbs up close. But she too felt the guilt from being moments too late to save a comrade’s life.

Just as right now. But the Goddess blessed her with the extra time to save him.

If only, he wasn’t so stubborn. But she can be too.

“Felix, I’m sorry. I can’t let you die here.” Marianne says firmly. Ignoring his groans of protest, she hovers her hands over his wound and feels the magic channel her energy to heal him.

On top of healing, she hasn’t used magic offensively since the wars either. There wasn’t a reason to when peace returned to Fodlan. But for that reason, the power and control it took to handle a _Thoron_ drained her far more than expected compared to the days where she could heal allies left and right on a battlefield. But even so, magic was limited. After a short few seconds, her head starts spinning from the tiredness and the glow around her hands begins dimming.

Pulling back her hands, she examines his wound again. Not enough. Some deeper tissues were healed, but the rest of the punctured skin remains open and continues to bleed. Though less blood than before. That was a start. If she could get an hour to rest up, then she can heal Felix again. But the blizzard coming down fiercely on them was their next problem. She notes how violently Felix was shivering and how ghostly pale he was growing by the seconds. They couldn’t wait outside much longer with the snow piling higher and higher and they needed to find shelter soon before night falls.

“Felix, I’m sorry. I couldn’t do much, but if we find some shelter first-”

“I know a place close by.” Felix interrupts and tries to sit up slowly. His teeth gritting at the pain running through his torso and Marianne reaches a hand out to steady him up. Perhaps she’s knocked some senses back into him with the healing magic after all.

Getting to wherever Felix was directing them to... was not the easiest task ever said. They make their way inch by inch through the snow. Felix tries to lead, pretending he’s recovered as if he wasn’t _stabbed,_ a moment ago, but Marianne, or anyone really, can read through his bravado easily. His face winces with every step he takes and each of his steps were taken cautiously and as lightly as possible to not tick off any pain more pain than necessary. His mind becomes foggy as it slips away, blurring his vision. The discomfort becomes overbearing for him as he half collapses to the ground and she lends a shoulder for him to lean on. One he reluctantly accepts. Eventually, it becomes Marianne half carrying Felix with one arm holding her typewriter curled around him for support and the other to apply pressure to his wound. She pulls him forward with their unison steps until they reach a lone cabin in the middle of the forest.

“This was… my hideout for the past day.” Felix explains, weakly kicking open the splintered door with the little energy left in him. The door opened up to darkness as they barely reached the cabin before the sun secretly set for the day. Aside from the small pile of wood next to the fireplace, the cabin looked abandoned, reflected in the worn down walls and dusty corners filled with cobwebs. Marianne lies Felix down on the floor and casts a small fire in the fire place with magic to bring some warmth and light to the small place.

She examines Felix once more, stripping him out of his tight outerwear. There was fresh blood painted on his shirt from the wound opening up again. Marianne calls upon another heal spell. It was fainter and weaker than before, but it helps to slow down the blood loss until she fully recovers. His breathing was paced and drawn out, but steady, and he continues to be responsive and alert when tested him with simple questions. His body remains chilly to the touch though, ice-cold even compared to snow. She slips off her outer coat, laying it on top of him as a blanket.

The only sound comes from the fire crackling between the two, dancing a golden glow on their faces. Felix’s eyes were wide open trained to the ceiling and his only jostled movements are from the sudden pricks of pain shooting through his body. Marianne sits with her back against the opposite wall from him and debates if she should start a conversation with him to break the silence between them. It wasn’t awkward per say… but an uneasy tension settles, especially since she hasn’t seen or even heard much of his whereabouts after the wars.

She had specific questions for him. _Why are you at Conand Tower? Why are you taking out bandits? What about House Fraladrius?_ But rest should be Felix’s top priority, and she didn’t want to pry into his business...

Marianne sighs, now she’s overthinking it, and decides to stay silent. Probably for the better if she doesn’t want the tension to grow even more uncomfortable. She crouches forward and pulls over her typewriter, popping the case open to write a letter to Hilda.

“What brings you all the way up here?” Felix says in a small voice, breaking the silence.

Marianne looks up, a little baffled, not expecting him to initiate anything. Maybe hearing his voice was her imagination. She blinks at him, eyes meeting each others as he stares back at her, expecting a response. “I was traveling to my next client,” she says.

“A client?”

“Yes, I write letters now at the request of clients.” Marianne points to her typewriter and opens it up to unveil the small machinery sitting inside. “I work as an Auto Memory Doll for Fodlan’s Postal Company now.”

“So, that’s what you were lugging around. It must be a pain to carry around such a bulky thing.”

Marianne giggles, closing the case and leaning her elbows against it. “It’s not as heavy as it looks. It’s lighter than some of the spell tomes I used to carry.” She picks up the handle and lifts up the typewriter with ease. “Light as a feather.” Marianne demonstrates. A typewriter was nothing in comparison to the heavy weapons or relics they carried in the past.

“What about House Edmund? Weren’t you their only successor?” Felix questions.

“Well, about that… I cut ties with my house to work for the postal company,” Marianne admits timidly, unsure how someone sharing the same noble background would judge her. She learned to move past the guilt of leaving behind nobility especially when it wasn't her desire to become House Edmund’s successor. She did nothing wrong. But sometimes the guilt slips through.

Felix snorts. “That makes two of us. The cutting ties with our respective Houses aspect. Life as a Duke wasn’t… satisfying for me.”

She looks up with surprise. When the postal company first established years ago and Marianne started to travel around Fodlan for her job, rumors floated around about the newly appointed Duke Fraldarius stepping down, only inheriting the responsibilities from his uncle several months prior. At the time, she paid little attention to the talk, but she didn’t think he would openly acknowledge his situation.

“I accepted the title because my uncle wouldn’t stop insisting. He kept babbling on how I was the true successor after my late father and I accepted to finally shut him up. And not long after,I renounced my nobility and became a wandering mercenary. I get paid to kill and I bet people are judging me for it. Having a major crest, only to renounce all nobility and become a mercenary. Funny right?” He chides, turning his head to the side and his sharp amber eyes illuminated by the fire meeting her own surprised hazel eyes.

“I hated being a Duke. A ton of work was thrown at me once I accepted my duties. Was my Uncle even doing any work during the interim period? The lazy ass he was.” Felix continues on. “It was meeting after meeting with frivolous nobles. Endless paperwork after paperwork to the point where I signed them without much more than a skim through the proposals. And House Fraldarius. No. The Kingdom isn’t the same as before, not after he lost him...”

_Dimitri. The crown prince of the Kingdom._

Unsure of how to respond, Marianne whispers, “I’m sorry.” She pulls her knees closer and folds herself small. An old habit when she wanted to close the world off to not strain the conversation further. In between the silence, the wind picks up again, shaking up the cabin and gusting its way indoors through small cracks unannounced, and takes the fire with it, leaving them in pitch dark to the sound of rattling windows.

It was for the better. She couldn’t dare to bring herself to look at his eyes. The heavy sorrow and frustration she expects in his eyes would only cause the guilt in her to grow.

The Alliance may have won the war, but were the consequences worth it? Dimitri was one of the many lives lost in a bloody sea of casualties. Other students they once called friends in the past met their agonizing ends. Innocent citizens forced into combat bearing the blunt of the responsibility of the nobility’s own selfish reasons left behind loved ones.

But the war and violence didn’t stop there. Throughout her first year as a Doll, Marianne toughly learned of the pain and sadness the job came with. The second war of Fodlan was statistically not as gruesome as the one prior, but casualties were nonetheless high. And war, no matter to which degree, was catastrophic. Marianne stayed off the battlefield and retired as a healer to focus on the postal company. Her father attempted to call her back to House Edmund, wishing to use her crest and relic to alleviate their political renown further and taut their status around to bordering cities. Marianne was hailed as the hero from House Edmund once in the past, a title she didn't want.

The letter-writing department received requests on the daily during the war, leading to a short-staffed team and resulting in Marianne having to disappointingly turn down requests as many letters were not deliverable without a precise address. Her heart grew heavier at every declined request. For someone who believes letters deliver happiness, the same is said about the opposite. Having experienced the first war, she empathized with others who were grieving over the cruelty of war and fighting. As time passed on, demands for their services declined when war phased out and the company recovered after late-night shifts from all departments working around the clock to ensure letters were delivered around Fodlan. And it took Marianne, slightly longer, for her heart and mind to mend themselves back together.

“You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?” Felix sighs.

Marianne nods in the dark to his question. As if Felix saw her confirmation he pushes on. “I’ve encountered others from the Alliance who shared the same sentiment. It’s patronizing if you ask me. Looking down on the Kingdom when we were the ones who didn’t keep it together. But you weren’t the one who started the war nor the one who ended the Boar’s life.”

Marianne tries to meet his gaze, but is met with darkness, instilling more uneasiness in her. She stands up and in a moment, light returns to the cabin with another cast of Marianne’ magic to the fireplace.

“But…” Felix starts off solemnly, staring at the blinding flames. “Could I have protected him? Could I have done something?”

When the spears impaled into him, did his body burn too? Scorching hotter than embers of fire? Or was was it a sudden and painless death? Were the flames ripping through the layers of skin like wildfire, too quickly for pain even to be felt? Both ends too unbearable to imagine. They both grimace at the same reminder of Hilda’s grave report at the three-way battle at Gronder Field on Dimitri’s death to the hands of the Empire.

“Felix, didn’t you say so yourself?” Marianne softly reminds him. Her words turning Felix’s attention away from the fire. “We won’t know all the answers to life, unfortunately. It branches off into too many scenarios. Some we like and many we hate.”

“That’s different. You weren’t didn’t grow up with h-” Felix starts.

“It’s okay to grieve, but it’s unfair to you to blame yourself,” Marianne says adamantly.

She’s met with a blank stare causing her to shift around stiffly in her seated position. Her face grows warm and she feels self-conscious. Did she cross a line? He didn’t specifically say he was looking for advice and surely, there were people who simply vent to let go of bottled up words.

“Um, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to step out my boundaries.”

Felix shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. Funny how we’re giving the same advice to each other, isn’t it? I was thinking that you’ve changed from years before, even compared to the first war,” he explains.

Years before were the days where she begged for the goddess to take her to the heavens as well. The days where she wished to leave the world behind. The days where she believed she was a burden and a curse to others. But years later came the days where she learned to believe in herself. The days where she wanted to live.

“I have a lot of friends who helped me,” she says lightheartedly, any awkwardness forgotten as she’s reminded of fond memories. Her hand grasps fondly onto her pink and blue gem bracelet. “And I made a promise to someone I love.”

A promise to a certain pink hair lover who was anxiously waiting for her return.

“A promise..?” Felix asks carefully.

“Yes, we made a promise to each other to live as long we can.” Marianne holds up her bracelet. “This bracelet symbolizes the promise we made to each other.”

“And do you intend to keep it?” Felix bluntly questions.

Marianne gives him a quizzical look. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“How would you feel if that person suddenly died? What would you do if that person didn’t keep the promise as long as you did?” He asks harshly. His voice ascending in distress with every word.

“I-”

“What if.. what if that person was willingly going to throw his life away even though he made a childhood promise to die together.” The frustration weighing down his voice as he cracks. “…to die together with someone.”

“Felix.” Marianne sits aside him and grasps one of his hands in hers. His hand tenses for a second before relaxing in her hold. She’s uncertain of what Felix is talking about or what lies behind his hypothetical promise, but the desperation in his voice makes her feel heavy for him.

“For one, yes, I would be heartbroken if I lost her. I wouldn’t know what to do without her when she’s been a big part of my life.” Marianne tightens her hold. “But I know and trust her. She wouldn’t throw her life away. She has always been a fighter.” She gives Felix a small smile. “What about yourself, Felix? How would you feel?”

“H-how would I feel? Hurt, obviously...” He mutters. Marianne understandingly nods. Felix continues on, voice laced with guilt. “What if the person who was about to break the promise was me? If you hadn’t come and rescue me, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“How do you think they would’ve felt if I haven’t?” Marianne asks.

“Hmph, as if I know.” Felix chides, flinching when his body meets with sudden pain in his torso. _Karma_ , he guesses. “Shit, ow. This still fucking hurts.”

"Do you regret that I saved you?" Marianne asks quietly.

"No and yes," he admits.

“Well for me...” Marianne casts another spell, the last one to completely heal his injury. “I would be sad, Felix. We may not have been close and we barely talked back at the academy or even as comrades during the war, but I care for you. I saved you for that reason and others did and will too.” She watches the magic glimmer around her hands. “And I’m sure the person who you made the promise with does too.”

Felix lolls his from side to side. “Who knows.”

“Say Felix… If you want to get things off your chest, I can write a letter for you. A lot of our clients tell us how much they appreciate being able to express their thoughts out loud and we can deliver it only when you're ready...” Marianne tries a different approach to help him open up. It's clear he has a lot on his mind, but she won't push the idea further if it isn't what he wants. “Is there someone you would like to write a letter to?”

“Only if you can deliver the letter to the heavens,” he retorts.

 _Wait._ Didn't he just say... or has she misunderstood him this entire time?

“I’m so sorry. Did this person pass aw-?” She blurts out.

“No. He’s alive, at least the last time I saw him he was. Somehow that idiot does the most reckless shit possible and yet still manages to come out alive.” Felix taunts, but his eyes, deep with remorse, stares upward. “But about the letter thing. I'm not really much of a letter person myself, though, I think there’s much I need to think about first if I wanted to write to anyone… you know, ask myself what is it I want to do? I lived by my sword since I was born, yet… here I am as a mercenary, still unsure about the purpose of it.”

“Yes, definitely. We may not have all the answers right now, but I’m sure it will come to you,” Marianne says wistfully.

And even for herself, once broken and defeated by her crest in the past, she doesn’t know all the answers to her own questions. It wasn’t as if her past doesn’t resurface and tries to pull her back down to her self-defacing or pessimistic old self, but on the other hand, she isn’t facing them alone any longer and strives to find her own definitions of happiness with help.

“Felix, you’re always welcomed to stop by the postal company in case you change your mind or want to say hi. We’re located by the old monastery,” Marianne adds on. She wholeheartedly means it and if he needs a hand of help, she will offer one to him.

Felix nods. “I will think about it if I’m in the area. Say, Marianne? Mind telling me how you found your way to working at this letter, postal company... thing?”

“Of course,” she accepts with a smile. Marianne recounts the days where she almost became an orator to succeed House Edmund to the day where Byleth approached her about working as an Auto Memory Doll to the variety of beautiful places she’s traveled to across Foldan to meet clients.

And as she continues on, happy to see him listening with intent, she unfolds page after page of her story to him until slumber overtakes the both of them well into the night; she dreams of her fond memories of Hilda and her heart is enveloped with love as she falls asleep.

Marianne knows without a doubt, she is happy at this point of time in life.

And she hopes Felix will come to his own realization.

[ — ]

Morning rolls around and the snow storm has subsided to its own slumber. Marianne wakes up feeling achy from sleeping in an uncomfortable upright position with her back slouched against the wall. She blinks away the sleepiness, stretching out her arms, and the coat blanketed over her falls onto her lap.

_Huh, didn’t she give this to Felix last night?_

She looks up at the spot where he was laying last night and finds it empty. Instead, the sun seeps through the window and spotlights the item resting on the floor in his place.

A sword left in its scabbard, symbolized with the crest of Fraldarius carved at the tip of the hilt.

**Author's Note:**

> ah, yes, the twist to the sylvix non-AM paired ending lol.
> 
> also hi do ignore how conand tower is not between gautier and fraldarius land. and how magic is from tomes and not channeled through a person. i oops'd on that haha.
> 
> and it was so tempting to name this fic: "Words Are Mightier Than the Sword" LOL but i did not,,,
> 
> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/yuuhsin)!


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